It is 3:48 a.m. on a weekend morning. I’m not sure if it’s Sunday or Monday but it doesn’t really matter because every day is Sunday or MOnday to me.

For the past couple of months I have been in a stupendous depression. I am not really sure what caused it but I suppose about two or three variables that could be involved.

Me and him have not spoken all week. I’m sure to hear it told to one of his buddies out of his own mouth it would sound like chinese to me. None of it would be intelligible, that is unless I spoke Mandarin or Cantonese….and you never know, one of those is on my bucket list.

I had my first sip of drink in over a week earlier this evening. I say “this evening” but I think the sip which was granted to me as a full-fledged DRINK was poured after midnight.

I ain’t drunk.

I ain’t buzzed.

Nothing.

it’s 4:10 a.m. now.

I am not mad about being ignored. I never was. I did nothing to be ignored. The only thing I did was ask my partner of 6 years some questions about some weird shit on his bank statement and he made it into a whole thing so he could ignore me, I suppose.

I turned 42 this past Monday. I have had a pretty strong feeling for several years that life is going to change at 42. My birthday is 4-2. If you google forty-two, here’s what you find: PURE BADDASSERY You’ll also find THIS.

I’ve been so depressed since Christmas I haven’t cared much for hygiene, but on my birthday, since I was being ignored anyway, I took the first selfies I’ve taken in a hundred years.

I usually don’t cry
But today that’s all I’ve done
I’m tired of living this way
Hasn’t the damage already been done?
Haven’t you already won?
When can I see the sun?
….and be happy about it?
All frolicking, and shit?

I think out of all the repurcussions stemming from my childhood, the one that pisses me off the most is that I buried all of my talents.

I am a very creative person, I always have been. I am both musically and artistically inclined. I knew I was good at music because my parents forced me to be in the band in Jr. high, and I was excellent at it. But because they forced me to do it, I became angry with it and I began to hate it, vehemently.

By the time I reached 8th grade, I had multiple superior awards from Solo and Ensemble festivals. I could play the clarinet like nobody’s business, and I never even practiced, at home.

The summer before 8th grade, I tried out for drum major and I won. I did practice my ass off to win that prize, but once football season hit and I was out on the field, or leading the band in the bleachers, I quit.

I only was drum major for one game. It was just way too much spotlight on me leading the band nerds, when all I really wanted was to be free of that dorky shit and hang out with the cool kids.

I could kick my ass for that now….and I guess I do…and I guess I have, for a long time.

My step-mom finally relented on band when I got to high school, and I was set free. The only reason they let me out of band was because they intended for me to go to LSU and there were several course requirements that had to be met and being in band would take away two credits a year that I could be putting toward Physics and Biology 2.

So…fast forward to High School Graduation…

I graduated with honors and I was, honestly, mind-blown about that. I ended my high-school career with a 3.67 GPA, which was completely due to my diligent studying 9th and 10th grades. By the time I got to the middle of my junior year, I was sneaking out, drinking, smoking weed and not giving a fuck about school. I have no idea how I passed Algebra 2 or Physics my senior year.

But I did.

I was excited to go to college, but I wanted to get as far away from my parent’s house as possible. I got accepted to every state school to which I applied and when I sat down with my dad to discuss where I would be attending he said to me, “Son, you have two choices. You can either go to LSU or you can go to LSU.”

My blood boiled.

He said not only could I only go to LSU, but that I could not live in a dorm room, or anything cool like that, I would be living at Salem’s Lot and commuting.

I can’t lie, though, once I settled in my first semester at LSU, I loved it. The school is huge, I didn’t know ANYONE, there were very friendly squirrels in the Quad, and I really, really enjoyed that one semester.

I don’t even know how to start this conversation, except to say two things:

I have never been a racist.

I feel like I am now.

Now, how it is that I was never discriminatory about color, I don’t know, I suppose I have to give all that credit to my mean-ass stepmother, because my dad is racist AS FUCK, and he always has been. However, wicked step-mother is an individual who possesses a few masters degrees, and her first love was art, so..I am guessing that back when she was in college, she was as flower-childy as she could be, without upsetting her rich, uppety parents.

I have a feeling that before she married my dad, that bitch was a cool motherfucker.

Nevertheless, she married the guy that would sit on the couch in the living room and “count niggers” on the t.v. and call the whole family in the room to share his vile disgust at all the channels which had on them, people of color.

I’m not shitting you…he would do that several times a week, for as long as I can remember. He probably doesn’t do it anymore, though, because I think it would be just too overwhelming for him, at this point…and he’s fucking old now.

Not that it ever occurred to me to use the word, “nigger”, because I swear to God on everything I love, I NEVER thought about using that word when I was young, but step-mother made it more-than-clear, that was a word that was NOT to be repeated.

And I didn’t.

As I write this, please keep in mind that I was raised not only in South Louisiana, but in Livingston Parish, which is basically the home of the KKK, around these parts.

Does the name, DAVID DUKE, ring a bell?

I remember being a kid and actually feeling relieved at her strictness concerning race. I hated almost everything else about her, because she ruled our house with an iron fist, but that’s the one thing I actually (without consciously realizing) that I liked about her.

When I was in the second grade, there was this black kid named Grant, who would pass me a note, at least, every-other-day, which always said the same thing:

“I like you, do you like me?”

And then he would write a “yes” and a “no” and write underneath “circle one”.

I remember really liking him, but I knew that was not something on which I could circle “yes”. So…I would scratch out his “yes or no” and write, “sort of”.

I did that EVERY TIME.

I ended up fucking Grant 23 years later, but that’s another story.

When I was 19 I got on hard drugs and ended roaming every hood in Baton Rouge. I did it for more than ten years and I am still alive…I am a fucking “OG”. I don’t do the drugs anymore (like that), nor am I a hood rat, anymore. Yeah, I was kidnapped, raped at knife-point, gang-banged at gun-point…one time, during a kidnapping, I ended up in an apartment where the dudes walked around with AK’s strapped to their chest and did nothing but peep out the blinds. One of them brought me to the bedroom, AK in my face, and told me to suck his dick. Dude pulled out his cock and it was covered in warts….

….I told him to shoot me….AND I FUCKING MEANT IT.

He remained silent…but he didn’t shoot me, and the kidnapper put me back in his van and we left.

All that to say…I have been off the shit for more than a decade, but I’m still not rich enough to not live in the hood. This new neighborhood, in this new parish I moved to….OMFG…the reverse racism is ABSOLUTELY FUCKING RIDICULOUS. I have never felt so discriminated against…even when I was a full-blown junkie…

…and I think I’m racist now.

….NIGGA

….and if you find yourself JUDGING ME, respond with a comment, so I can respond, in kind, and defend myself.

Oh my God, I hate being low, when I was younger I stayed doing blow, so I didn’t even know that reason I stayed on “GO” was a subconscious attempt at not being low.

I always stayed high with wings that would fly down though the pits of hell then back up to the sky and I remember asking, “why?” because being high all the time still made me cry (but only on the inside)

Now years have passed and though sometimes I ask I really do pass on the hard drugs.

I just drink the liquor, and my body is getting sicker but thing is…this week, I didn’t even drink and I’m still fucking low and I still want to go and I don’t want to leave my bed so yes, I do know, that I am sick in the head.

Will this ever end? When did it begin? When I lost my mom the first time? Or when it happened again?

Archives

k

I feel creative energy jingling my private parts.
I like to write and I also hate to write. I am getting over hating it now that I am starting to understand that I was lied to as a child and I actually do possess a brain that functions, as well as a pretty fair amount of other desirable traits.
My own acceptation of the inherent knowledge and talent I possess took a long time for me to understand and believe. I'm still not there yet, and neither are my writing skills. However, I heard many years ago, from a source which I cannot recall, that one can not expect to improve upon something which one does not practice.
Let the practice begin!
I AM:
Charming, witty, funny, dreamy, screamy, honest, angelic, demonic, intuitive, fanciful, over-reactive, angry, sweet, ex-dope fiend, petulant, unsane, genius, idiotic, truthful to a fault, eiditic memory, beautiful, sad, melancholy, aloof, clingy, maniacal, suicidal, dancing, old-fashioned, fuckin weird, sesquipedalian, exuberant, anxious, bipolar, fertile yet sterile, ambiguous, impulsive, impetuous, artistic, conspiracy enthusiast, moody, non-trusting, musical, flighty, drinks like a machine, fear of rejection, prone to isolation, fearless, fearful, analytical, conservative yet liberal, irrational, enigmatic, low self-esteem projecting high self-esteem, positivity cheerleader for others, worried yet carelessly optimistic, sexy, sometimes argumentative, mentalist, book-lover, procrastinator, initiate, loving, people-watcher, people-pleaser, numb, first-class twerker, major depressive, feelings denier, possibly some kind of schizo, definitely borderline, possibly bipolar, drawn to the esoteric like a moth to a flame, ferocious, tender, mother, fierce, strong yet so very weak, prone to addictions, mediator and meditator, introvert, healer, lover and a fucking fighter....a paradox personified.

I lived with and was married to a female malignant narcissist for 12 years who has BPD and HPD. I endured significant trauma, gas lighting, degrading comments and was left feeling worthless. Now I'm out, living with C-PTSD and watching my kids be treated like textbook Golden Child and Scapegoat children. My daily struggle to get them the hell away from her claws. Have questions, comments, advice? Ask, tell, share. I am here to recover.